


playing favorites

by artenon



Series: Steter Week 2020 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Full Shift Werewolves, Getting Together, Good Peter Hale, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:15:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25606468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artenon/pseuds/artenon
Summary: Stiles stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending. “Seriously, that’s it? There’s no emergency? No errand? We’re just… here on vacation?”--Or: It's winter break, Stiles is stressed, and Peter takes him to an old Hale cabin in the mountains.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Steter Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1856551
Comments: 36
Kudos: 512
Collections: Steter Week 2020





	playing favorites

**Author's Note:**

> note on age - this fic is set during the winter break of stiles's senior year in high school, so he's probably 17 but i didn't specify. i didn't tag underage because there's no explicit sexual content in this fic, but there is some very briefly implied in the last few paragraphs.
> 
> -
> 
> this is for steter week day 3's [visual theme](https://qorktrees.tumblr.com/post/624029531352825856/steter-week-2020) of a cabin in snowy woods! it's past midnight now so i'm technically two days late but it's fiiine.
> 
> big thanks to [ailurea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ailurea) and [blacktreecle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacktreecle) for beta'ing <3

The first day of winter break, Stiles was staring blankly at the essay question for a scholarship application, copied and pasted onto a Word doc, when Peter texted him: _Pack warm clothes. I’ll be there in 1 hour._

Stiles replied _???_ , but Peter offered no further explanation, only repeated, _1 hour_.

Fifty minutes later, Stiles still hadn’t moved from his chair.

Part of him was still waiting for an explanation, even though it was obvious that none was forthcoming. The other part thought he had time to—and that he _should_ —make some headway on his essay, especially if he was about to be waylaid by whatever the latest supernatural bullshit was.

(He’d made exactly zero progress on the essay.)

God, he hoped it wasn’t too bad, whatever was wrong. Stiles had thought he had a handle on this supernatural-school-life balance thing. He’d managed during sophomore year. He’d even managed during junior year despite more APs and taking the SAT. But apparently senior year, with AP classes _and_ college apps _and_ scholarship apps _and_ constant supernatural threats, was where he broke.

Stiles had never actually been frustrated to the point of tears, but he felt himself getting pretty damn close, lately.

Seven minutes til Peter was supposed to get here. Stiles heaved a sigh and stood. There was an empty duffel bag under his bed, he knew, and he shoved clothes haphazardly into it. He wished Peter had at least told him how long they’d be gone. Better safe than sorry, he decided, remembering that time last summer when they’d been gone for an entire week, running a ridiculous chain of errands for a dozen different people before finally getting the magical artifact they’d wanted in the first place.

Stiles clattered downstairs, bag slung over his shoulder, right as the doorbell rang.

“I swear you’re the only werewolf I know who knows how to use the front door,” he said, grinning because even when Peter was being frustratingly vague, Stiles was always happy to see him.

He was rewarded with a small smile of Peter’s own, and a cup that Stiles recognized as being from the artsy coffeehouse downtown. Normally Stiles thought overpriced drinks were a scam—what was the difference, right?—but Peter’s favorite haunt might just convince him otherwise.

“That’s because I’m civilized,” Peter said, and Stiles snorted. It was Peter’s typical response when Stiles compared his habits to those of the rest of the shifters in their pack, although those were usually comments on Peter’s expensive and particular tastes.

Still, those tastes sometimes worked in Stiles’s favor. He inspected the contents of his cup, then gave a happy hum and took a sip of the hot chocolate, which was delicious as always. Besides the touch of cinnamon, he wasn’t sure what they put in it, but it was way better than cocoa packets from the grocery store.

He’d still never get it without Peter paying, though.

“You’re also my favorite,” Stiles told him. “Don’t tell Scott. Or Derek.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Peter said. “Are you ready to go?”

“Uh, sure?” Stiles said. He gripped the strap of his bag and followed Peter to his car. “Where are we going, exactly?”

“You’ll see when we get there.”

“Dude, you can’t do that to me.” Stiles tossed his duffel bag into the backseat and climbed into the passenger seat. “Now I’m curious. I mean, I was already curious, but—” He clicked his seatbelt in. “—now I’m extra curious.”

Peter started the ignition.

Stiles poked him in the shoulder “C’mon, tell me.”

They pulled out from the curb.

“Tellllllll meeeeee.”

Peter sighed. “I did hope the cocoa would keep you quiet for longer.”

“Do you even know me?” Stiles snorted, but he took another drink. His cheeks were cold from the brief walk from his front door to Peter’s car, and the cocoa warmed him right up.

Peter turned the radio on and Stiles stared out the window, taking slow sips as they wound through the streets of Beacon Hills.

“How long is this gonna take?” Stiles asked when he finished his drink and it became obvious that they were leaving the city.

“The drive, or what we’re doing when we get there?” Peter said.

“Uh.” Stiles paused. “Both.”

“A few hours for the drive. As for what we’re doing… maybe a few days? It depends on how things go.”

Whatever _that_ meant.

“And does my dad know you’ve kidnapped me?”

“I didn’t kidnap you,” Peter said. “But yes, he knows you’re not going to be home.”

“And he’s okay with it?”

“Yes, Stiles,” Peter said slowly, like he thought Stiles was dull. Stiles didn’t have to turn from the window to know Peter was rolling his eyes.

“Hmm,” Stiles said.

It couldn’t be anything too dangerous, then, if his dad was cool with it. His dad had accepted that there were supernatural affairs he simply wasn’t equipped to handle, and he’d accepted that he could never stop Stiles from getting involved, but that didn’t mean he was happy about how often Stiles threw himself into danger.

And he definitely hadn’t been happy about how much Stiles hung around Peter, but Peter was bright and inquisitive the same way Stiles was, and if research into any particular mythology needed to be done, more often than not it was the two of them volunteering to do it. Stiles’s dad had been very happy to find out that Stiles and Peter were actually usually on the non-violent end of dealing with the supernatural.

Catching them that time Peter tricked Stiles into writing his essay on _Frankenstein_ by arguing with him about the book (conveniently along the lines of the essay prompt) had probably helped change his dad’s opinion of Peter, too.

“He’s a bright kid, really, but it’s hard for him to stay on task,” his dad had said that night, having invited Peter to stay for dinner. “Did you know, he once wrote an essay on the history of male circumcision for his economics class?”

“Okay, that’s enough, Dad,” Stiles said loudly over Peter’s laughing fit.

Peter shook his head, mirth still clear in his eyes. “All you have to do is find a way to get him engaged,” he said. “And he’ll do brilliantly. He always does.”

And Stiles’s dad had turned and looked at him, so damn proud, like he’d always known Stiles was great and was just waiting for someone else to see it, too, and Stiles flushed because goddammit, when he’d hoped his dad and Peter would find some way to get along he’d thought it’d be about sports or something, not Stiles’s academic life.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Peter as the memory spurred a thought. “You’re not taking me on a college tour, are you? I told you I can’t afford Stanford.”

“What?” Peter said with a laugh, as if he wasn’t a pretentious Stanford alum who’d spent the past few months offended that Stiles’s top choice was UC Berkeley. “No. Although if you really wanted to attend Stanford—”

“Not happening,” Stiles said.

Peter and Derek were always saying that the Hale money was pack money, and that they were more than willing to help any of them pay their tuition, but Stiles still felt weird about it. He’d already let them cover the costs of Eichen House and the MRI after the Nogitsune situation last year—he’d tried not to feel too bad about that because they were costs borne from supernatural-related bullshit—but college was different.

Although, honestly, he’d probably cave and accept some help, if only because he wanted his dad to be able to retire sooner rather than later, and some things were more important than pride. But at least Berkeley would be way cheaper than Stanford, and he was already applying to as many scholarships as possible and planning on doing work-study, too.

Thinking about school and money was making Stiles depressed. “Are you gonna tell me where we’re going yet?”

“Can you just be patient for once?” Peter glanced at him. “If you do, you can play your music. And choose where we stop for lunch.”

“Taco Bell,” Stiles said, mostly to see if Peter really meant it.

After a beat, Peter said, “Fine.” It only sounded a little grudging.

“Wow, you really don’t want to tell me where we’re going,” Stiles laughed. “I was kidding, we can get something else—your choice. But I will definitely play my music now.”

Smiling to himself, he scrolled through his playlists on his phone, past _Midterms Cram with Lydia - Instrumental_ and _Music Derek Pretends to Hate_ down to _Road trips with Peter!!!_ Soon enough, he was thoroughly distracted singing and shimmying along to the beat as well as he could while sitting in a car.

He used to be more self-conscious about jamming in the car, but he’d been on plenty of long drives with Peter. Obviously—he even had a playlist for it. Now when Peter glanced at him, the corner of his mouth ticked up, Stiles grinned broadly back.

Sometimes Peter even sang along.

* * *

It was early afternoon when they finally pulled up to a large cabin.

“Whoa, who lives here?” Stiles asked, peering out at it.

It looked pretty nice, which by Stiles’s standards mostly meant it looked too big and nice to be the home of an axe-murderer, which Stiles had thought was the only kind of cabin you’d find isolated in the middle of the mountains.

Peter opened Stiles’s door for him. “No one.”

“Okay, so who’re we meeting?”

“Again,” Peter said, “no one. Get your bag.”

Stiles frowned but did as he was told, fetching his bag from the backseat before joining Peter by the trunk. “Then why are we here?”

Not entirely unsurprisingly, Peter didn’t answer. Stiles looked into the open trunk, hoping for a hint, but the only things in it were a suitcase and a large cooler.

“Would you get the suitcase?” Peter said. “The cooler might be too heavy.”

After saying this, he easily hefted the cooler up and out of the trunk.

Stiles rolled his eyes and grabbed the suitcase.

“This cabin is Hale property,” Peter said as they walked up to it. “We used to bring the kids here when they were still learning to control their shift, let them run around freely. It’s also just a nice little retreat.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, feeling breathless and a little achy like he always did whenever Peter or Derek revealed another sliver about their family. He didn’t press, but he did put a hand on Peter’s shoulder and give it a brief squeeze.

Peter strode inside without faltering, but Stiles followed with tentative steps, unable to shake the feeling that he was intruding. He tried not to look around too obviously, but his eyes caught on the entertainment system in the living room. The TV looked kind of old, but it was big, and the shelf beside it was filled with DVDs and even some VHS tapes. Ready for kids. Ready for a family.

Stiles swallowed. “I still don’t get why we’re here,” he said. “Is there something valuable hidden here, or something?”

Peter had been standing still and quiet, like he’d also been drawn into the past for a moment, but now he sighed and turned to face Stiles fully. “We’re here, Stiles, because you have been incredibly stressed out and desperately need a break. We’re here because I know you would never really relax at Beacon Hills. So, I took you away.”

Stiles stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending. “Seriously, that’s it? There’s no emergency? No errand? We’re just… here on vacation?”

Peter hummed and headed for the kitchen, where he started putting groceries away.

Stiles trailed after him. “What if something happens back home?”

“Nothing will happen.”

“You cannot possibly know that for fact.”

Peter sighed again. He didn’t look at Stiles this time when he spoke. “And this is why I didn’t tell you where we were going. We’re already here, and I’m not driving us back until you get at least one full night’s rest. I promise the others can survive without us until then.”

“You sure about that?” Stiles muttered, but he moved to help Peter with the groceries. It wasn’t like Stiles didn’t want a break, but… Well, if he woke up tomorrow still antsy and anxious, he could demand they go home then.

They finished putting the groceries away and stowed their bags in two of the bedrooms before deciding to go for a walk. Stiles didn’t really feel like playing in the snow, even though he hadn’t been to the mountains since he was a little kid, but Peter was restless from the long drive and wanted to stretch his legs.

Stiles went to use the toilet first, and it took until he was washing his hands to realize that not only was there running water and electricity, the place wasn’t nearly as musty as it should’ve been.

But of course, when did Peter ever do anything on a whim?

Stiles leaned in the doorway of Peter’s room. Peter was crouched at his suitcase, getting a scarf for Stiles.

(“I said pack warm.”

“You didn’t say ‘snowy mountains’ warm!”)

“So,” Stiles said. “How long have you been planning this little getaway?”

Peter straightened up and turned to him, scarf in hand. “Long enough.”

Stiles held his hand out for the scarf but Peter batted him away and started winding it around Stiles’s neck himself. Stiles let him, but not without rolling his eyes.

“And my dad was really okay with this? I mean, you and me. Alone together. In a cabin in the mountains.”

“Well,” Peter said, and now he looked shifty. “Your father may be under the impression that it isn’t just the two of us here.”

“There’s the creeper I know and love,” Stiles drawled. “Seriously though, why _didn’t_ we bring anyone else? Clearly the place is big enough.”

Peter raised an eyebrow at him.

Stiles gasped. “Peter, are you playing favorites?”

“I always am,” Peter said. “I would have thought you’d know that by now.”

* * *

They walked together through the woods. Well, Stiles walked. Peter had gone into a full shift, something Stiles had only seen a few times. In the months after he’d first bit Scott and was going on his revenge-rampage, Peter’s full shift had been a distorted, monstrous thing. Now he looked more or less like a regular dark gray wolf, if not a bit bigger. He darted around, sniffing at the foliage and snapping at squirrels, though he never strayed too far before looping back around to Stiles, even though Stiles kept trying to wave him off.

The uneven trails left Stiles winded before long, and he leaned back against a tree and wheezed.

“You’d think—with all the running away I do—I’d have more stamina than this,” Stiles grumbled, and clutched at his cramping abdomen.

He felt a tug and looked down to see that Peter had his teeth closed around the ankle of his jeans.

Stiles shook his head. “I’m telling you, go on ahead, it’s fine. I’ll catch up.”

Peter tugged harder. Stiles stumbled forward and barely kept himself from falling.

“Ugh, okay! Geez! I’m coming, see? You can let go now.”

Stiles quickly realized that Peter was leading him somewhere, walking deliberately instead of weaving through the trees. A couple minutes later, they emerged in a small clearing. Peter led him to a large, flat rock and barked.

“Aw, did you bring me here so I could sit?” Stiles asked.

Peter barked again, tail wagging triumphantly, and Stiles grinned and patted his head.

“Thank you.”

He brushed away some snow from the rock and made himself comfortable (as comfortable as he could on a rock, anyway; still, it was better than slouching against a tree or sitting directly on the ground). Seemingly satisfied, Peter turned and bounded across the clearing. Stiles watched him play in the snow and smiled helplessly at how carefree he looked to be.

Maybe a break was good after all, if he got to see Peter like this.

And maybe it was that the walk had tired Stiles too much to think about everything he’d been stressing about, or maybe it was Peter’s energy getting to him, but as Stiles caught his breath he felt a playfulness bubble up in him, like a dancing lightness in his chest.

He waited a couple minutes, idly kicking the snow at his feet, until Peter started nosing around at the base of a tree several feet away, not paying Stiles any attention at all, and then he quietly scooped up a handful of snow and stood. He packed the snow into a ball and grinned as he strolled towards Peter, hands behind his back.

“Peter!” he called once he was close enough, and the moment Peter’s head swiveled towards him, he launched the snowball.

It nailed Peter right between the eyes and splattered across his face. Stiles whooped, but it quickly turned into a shriek as Peter advanced on him, long legs carrying him towards Stiles at an alarming speed.

“Nooo!” he cried, turning and running. He barely got three steps away before Peter barrelled into him and knocked him to the ground.

Stiles squirmed and flailed and managed to flip over onto his back. Peter descended on him, pushing his snout into Stiles’s face and scraping his fangs across his cheek without biting down.

Stiles laughed, pushing at Peter ineffectually. “Mercy, mercy!”

Peter backed off and, when Stiles scrambled to sit up, dipped into a play bow. His tail whipped back and forth in excitement.

“Oh my god, you’re so cute right now,” Stiles said.

Peter’s tail froze mid-wag. He even growled, which sent Stiles into another fit of laughter.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell the others that you’re actually a gigantic puppy.” Stiles leaned forward and rubbed his hand up and down Peter’s chest. “C’mon, I know you want tummy rubs.”

Peter flashed his eyes at him, maybe because he couldn’t glare. Stiles snorted and shoved him lightly until he complied, lying on his back with his front paws tucked up to his chest.

“No one can resist the belly rubs,” Stiles said.

He splayed both hands on Peter’s belly and rubbed. Peter’s tail started wagging again, slowly at first, then picking up speed until each swish of his tail sent up a small spray of snow. Stiles laughed.

“See, I dunno what you get so defensive about,” he said. “No one would ever believe me if I told them about this, so you don’t have to worry about your reputation with them. And I already know you’re secretly a marshmallow, so there’s no point in even trying to hide it from me.”

Everyone assumed that Stiles liked Peter because they could match each other verbally. Peter teased Stiles, he talked back, he pushed—and Stiles did just the same to Peter. That was what everyone saw, but that wasn’t all there was to them.

Stiles used to think Peter just somehow knew everything, but the truth was really that he paid attention. If Stiles fell into a research hole about the architecture of bridges, then he was sure to soon see Peter with three books on the topic from the library. He not only kept up with Stiles’s whims and hyperfixations, he indulged them.

The ability to talk at length about the _Star Wars_ extended universe, though? Peter brought that all on his own, and it delighted Stiles to no end.

Peter read over Stiles’s essays for his college apps and left as many thoughtful and encouraging notes as sarcastic ones. He’d started sending Stiles scholarships to apply to once he realized that Stiles was adamant about not letting him pay his full tuition.

He sang along to Stiles’s road trip playlist, for god’s sake.

Stiles liked Peter. He liked him a lot. He hesitated to call him _best friend_ because that was Scott, always Scott, his best friend and his brother, but Peter… Well, he was something. And he was up there.

He was jarred from his thoughts when Peter yipped softly, and Stiles realized his hands hand been sitting unmoving on Peter’s belly for a while now.

“Sorry,” Stiles said. “Got lost in my thoughts for a minute there.” He moved his hands up to Peter’s head, pushed his fingers into the thick, soft fur around his neck and scratched behind his ears. “You all exercised out, ready to head back?”

Peter barked, hopped to his feet, and shook the snow from his pelt. Stiles squawked and stumbled backwards.

“A little warning next time?”

Peter just butted his head against Stiles’s calf before trotting off.

They’d been out longer than Stiles thought, the sun dipping lower in the sky and bringing the temperature down with it. By the end of their trek back to the cabin, Stiles had picked up his pace to a light jog to combat the cold.

Once they were inside, Stiles slouched over, bracing his hands on his thighs, and groaned. “Ugh, how can I be so warm and sweaty _and_ freezing at the same time?”

Peter made a snuffling noise that might have been his attempt at a snort before padding away. Stiles trailed after him.

Peter stopped just inside his bedroom and looked pointedly at Stiles.

“What?” Stiles said.

Peter looked at the bed, then back at Stiles.

“What?” Stiles said again. He looked at the bed and saw the clothes Peter had been wearing earlier, folded neatly and sitting on top of the covers. “Oh! Right. Full shift. Naked. I will… leave you to it.” He took a step backwards and pulled the door shut, babbling on. “Wow, you’re the only shifter I know with a sense of modesty, which is hilarious considering the size of your overinflated ego, but Derek and Malia give no fucks about shifting back naked for all of us to see.”

“That’s because I’m civilized,” Peter said dryly through the closed door. “And you can help yourself to the shower if you want.”

“Ooh, that sounds so nice right now. You have great ideas,” Stiles said.

“If only anyone else thought so,” Peter said mournfully.

* * *

After his shower, Stiles tugged on his warmest pajamas and thickest socks. He threw on a sweater for good measure, and stole the comforter from his bed to wrap around his shoulders before he decided that yes, he was ready to brave the rest of the cabin again.

Peter had gone in to shower after Stiles, so Stiles poked around for something to do, starting with the movie collection in the living room. A lot of them were kids’ movies, which made Stiles ache all over again, but he took a deep breath and raked his eyes over the rest of them, wondering what Peter might like to watch.

He’d moved on and was rooting around in a cabinet when he heard Peter emerge from the bathroom.

“You look ridiculous,” Peter said.

Stiles turned. “Yeah, well, you—” The words died on his tongue. Peter wasn’t even wearing anything special, just some dark sweatpants and a sweatshirt, but Stiles had always secretly thought Peter looked really good dressed down. “You. Are a werewolf,” he revised lamely. “And I am a fragile human who gets cold easily. Also, I found board games.”

Peter raised an eyebrow at him, but let the comment slide, and they settled on Stiles’s bed to play Scrabble.

They set out to play best of three, but Stiles demanded a rematch after Peter claimed victory in the third round by a scant two points. Stiles won the fourth round, and Peter declared that they should stop there.

“Scared you’ll lose the tiebreaker?” Stiles said with his most confident smirk.

“Scared you’ll want to play a sixth round after I win the tiebreaker for the second time,” Peter deadpanned. “We’ll never get to dinner at this rate.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “We’ll stop, but only ‘cause I _am_ hungry.”

“Sure, we can pretend that’s the only reason.”

Stiles stuck his tongue out at him.

* * *

Dinner was a delicious fettuccine alfredo. Peter did all the cooking, because he was particular like that and needed things done exactly his way. He also brought out some wine that he insisted was the perfect pairing for it. It just tasted like wine to Stiles. Peter laughed when he said so and gave him a can of soda instead.

Afterwards, they curled up on the couch to watch a movie, though honestly, Stiles hardly paid it any attention, full and sleepy and cozy. Peter was solid and warm, and the way he wrapped his arm around Stiles and absently stroked his arm with his thumb had Stiles sinking further and further into his chest and eventually, into sleep.

* * *

Stiles woke to a gentle hand shaking his shoulder.

He tried for words and came up with, “Mrgh?”

“Time for bed,” Peter said, his voice a low, smooth rumble. Stiles wanted to burrow in it.

“Hrmgh,” he replied.

“Don’t make me carry you,” Peter said.

Stiles’s lips curled into a smile. “Mmmm, s’that a promise?”

“Really?” Peter said, but Stiles could hear the answering smile in it.

Stiles didn’t even open his eyes, just lifted his arms expectantly. Peter huffed a breath, one more token protest, but then strong arms were curling around Stiles’s back and under his legs, and hefting him up. Stiles hooked his arms around Peter’s neck and snuggled into his chest.

Peter pressed his nose into Stiles’s hair for a brief moment before he started walking. The gentle rhythm of his steps nearly lulled Stiles back to sleep, but all too soon, Peter was depositing him into a bed that was way too cold. Stiles tried blindly to catch Peter’s wrist before he left, but he was a little slow and he ended up wrapping his hand around Peter’s fingers instead.

“Stay,” Stiles whispered.

“I really shouldn’t,” Peter said.

He sounded a bit odd, and Stiles pried his eyes open. He could barely make out anything in the darkness, but Peter would be able to see his glare, and that was what mattered.

“Peter,” he said, “if you deprive me of my cuddles, I swear to god I will hurt you. Great bodily harm will be delivered to your person.”

“ _How?_ ” Peter muttered, but it seemed to do the trick because he climbed into bed next to Stiles, drew him in to hold their bodies together, hand settling at the nape of his neck.

“I’d figure something out,” Stiles said, eyes already slipping back shut.

He flung his arm around Peter’s torso like he might still leave. Because he knew why Peter had hesitated—snuggling together on the couch was a lot different from cuddling in bed and falling asleep together, and there was only so much they could excuse away as pack tactility. Stiles wasn’t exactly sure what this was, but he knew he felt warm and secure and _right_ , and he didn’t want to let go, not for anything.

“This isn’t weird,” Stiles said.

Peter snorted softly. “Especially not now that you’ve said so.”

“Quiet. It’s not weird ‘cause you’re my favorite.”

“Even though you just threatened me with great bodily harm?”

“Mmhm. Am I your favorite?”

“Obviously.”

“M’kay. Then it’s fine.” Stiles squeezed his arm around Peter and smiled into Peter’s chest when he squeezed back. “Night.”

“Good night, Stiles.”

* * *

The next time Stiles woke up, it was to bright sunlight streaming through open curtains. He was alone in the bed, but he felt good. Content. The emotions he’d been too sleepy to parse last night were laid bare in his chest with new clarity, and it wasn’t nearly as scary as it maybe should’ve been.

The aroma of bacon drifted through the open door. Stiles turned his head and pressed his nose into his pillow, hid a smile in it.

He didn’t linger in bed long before heading to the kitchen. Peter was a gorgeous sight standing at the stove still in his pajamas, his hair rumpled with sleep and unstyled. He was humming something, one of the songs from Stiles’s road trip playlist.

Stiles padded forward. Peter didn’t normally like being touched from behind, but Stiles felt completely secure in snaking his arms around him and dropping his chin to Peter’s shoulder. Peter leaned back into him, and Stiles’s stomach fluttered.

It was on the tip of his tongue, the way this could easily play out: _Bacon? You’re my favorite_ , he’d say, and Peter would make some quip back. But this time Stiles wanted to voice what he really meant when he said those words.

What he’d always meant.

“Just so you know,” Stiles said, “I’m in love with you.”

For a split second Peter was frozen, and then he exhaled. “That’s good,” he said. “Because I’m in love with you.”

Stiles grinned. “Of course you are. I’m your favorite.”

“Somehow,” Peter agreed, turning to face him. “Even though you’re so insufferable.”

“Match made in heaven,” Stiles said.

He leaned in, and Peter tilted his head, eyes fluttering shut, lips parting in anticipation. The kiss was deep and lingering, and Stiles pulled back with a soft sigh.

“Shouldn’t have kissed you while you were cooking,” Stiles said. “Now I don’t want to stop.”

Peter snorted and turned back to the stove. “That’s on you.”

Stiles kept his arms wrapped around Peter and nuzzled the back of his neck. “Thanks for bringing me here. I kind of really needed it.”

“I know,” Peter said, and it should have been snarky but it just sounded gentle. He made up for it when he added, “I take it you’re not dying to go home immediately then?”

“Oh no,” Stiles said. “No. I mean, I probably should, but… I have some ideas on how you can keep me distracted.”

“Really,” Peter said, amused.

Stiles sunk his teeth lightly into the juncture of Peter’s shoulder and neck. “Mmhm. Plenty, actually.”

“I can hardly wait.”

Neither could Stiles. In fact, why should they? Stiles reached over to turn the stove off and dragged Peter back to the bedroom.

Peter’s mild protests were made even weaker by the way he let Stiles pull him along with no resistance. They fell away entirely with their next kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading! i'm trying to get one more fic done for steter week but i am a slow writer, please pray for me.
> 
> you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/qorktree) / [tumblr](https://qorktrees.tumblr.com/)


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